


sweater

by acesblindeyes



Category: Bastille (Band)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Sleepy Dan, he looked so sleepy it was adorable, inspired by todays radio one thing, just a bunch of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-06-10 09:27:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6950638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acesblindeyes/pseuds/acesblindeyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You decide he won't mind you wearing it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sweater

He looks cute while he’s sleeping.

He looks perfectly content, not the dead, almost zombie-like tiredness you see on him after tour. His eyes closed, his hair still not gelled into place, his stubble still not shaved off.

You rejoice in days like these. Days where he’s lazy and not stressed, where he’s as soft as the shirt he’s wearing. Days where you could both be absolutely content in not doing anything, just enjoying each other’s company. Days like these rarely happen anymore, so you try to enjoy them when they occur.

The only thing that’s on your mind right now is how great he smells. It’s not the scent of his body wash, his shaving cream, or his cologne. It’s something so distinctly him. So when you’re contemplating what to put on over the shirt you slept in, you immediately grab that sweater, the soft black one that you’ve been wanting to take ever since you first saw it on him.

Jesus. You can see why he wears it so often- the sweater feels like a fucking cloud on your skin. And as you glance at your sleeping boyfriend, you decide he won’t mind that you’re wearing it.

For some reason, you wake up extremely early on the weekends. It must be your body’s natural habit to wake up so you can get to work on time, but you find it useless on the weekends. Though, as you stare out the window while the kettle is set to boil, you see the pitter-patter of the so common London rain, you decide that you like waking up early, when everything’s still asleep.

When the kettle starts whistling, you pour the boiling water in your cup and choose your favorite tea to put in it. As you’re doing this, warm arms wrap around your waist.

“I was looking for this sweater,” Dan’s voice mumbles, as he nuzzles his face into your shoulder.

“Whoops,” you say, not sounding the least bit sorry.

He pulls back from you, and you turn around. You take in his mussed hair, glasses, and sleepy, squinting eyes.

“I must say,” he rasps, clearing his throat. “You do look much better in it than I do.”

“Shut up,” you smirk, hand going up to swat his shoulder, but then resting there. You set down the tea you had in the other hand, then reach up to wrap your arms around him. His hands automatically go to rest on your waist.

You take your head off his chest, hands playing with the short hairs on the back of his neck. You glance up at him, then tip-toe to reach his lips. He meets you halfway, slightly craning his neck to capture your lips in a slow and lazy kiss.

And as you break apart, you stay in that embrace, your tea slowly going cold, but you have never felt more warm.


End file.
